


Staccato

by zelda (skinandearth)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, M/M, Nightmares, Rare Pairings, Shippy if you Squint, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 19:45:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4973683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skinandearth/pseuds/zelda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrice has a nightmare. Lucky for him, Brad is in the next bed over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Staccato

He wakes up in a cold sweat.

He gasps as he sits bolt upright, eyes wide in the darkness, breath coming quick and shallow. His lungs burn like he’d just skated a full triple overtime, tears pricking at his eyes. He stiffens as the man in the other bed shifts, snoring softly as he rolls onto his back.

Patrice chokes back a sob. He hopes the other man doesn’t hear it.

His eyes are burning now, too. He closes them tightly, trying to squeeze the tears back into his eyes as he flops backwards. His heart still beats its staccato rhythm, hammering in his chest so hard that he feels like it’s going to burst out of his ribcage, run away and hide just like he wants to right now.

One tear manages to find its way down his cheek.

He gasps softly, breath hitching in his throat as he tries to remember the dream, what happened to get him so worked up. He shifts and turns and tangles himself in the blankets, frustrated and anxious over something that he can’t remember.

He falls asleep again.

This time, he remembers part of the nightmare. It doesn’t make sense, the images of a gun being pressed into his hand, blurry faces filled with fear, anger, distress, courage, hatred. He hears the cry before it registers as his own, jerking awake when he feels something touch his shoulder. Still partially asleep, he clenches his fist and throws a punch at whatever blurry figure is standing over him. He feels his knuckles collide with flesh, clipping someone in the shoulder as they raise their hands. The person above him groans.

“Pat! Easy, man, it’s just me!” The light by his bed clicks on, blinding him for a moment. He squints up, seeing the shadows cast across the man’s face. Two brown eyes blink down at him, the unmistakable nose of his best friend clearly visible in the low light.

“Brad? Shit, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know it was you…”

“It’s alright man,” He sits down next to Patrice, taking in the bags under his eyes. “You okay, dude? No offense, but you look like cold shit in Hell.”

He wants to make a witty comeback, chirp his linemate, but when he opens his mouth his breath hitches again. Brad moves closer, taking the taller man’s hand and squeezing gently. Patrice lets himself be manipulated into a more comfortable position, head resting on his linemates chest as the shorter man’s fingers comb through his hair. The TV clicks on, the sound low as the lamp beside the bed turns off once more. He hiccups softly, Brad’s fingers quick and clever as he starts to relax. Brad holds him there, breathing soft and regular as Patrice’s head rests over his heart, the soft beats lulling him into a gentle doze. Brad continues to pat absentmindedly at his head, yawning softly as Patrice curls closer to his side. The TV on low, he allows himself to close his eyes, letting Patrice curl around him as they sleep together in a tangle of limbs and sheets.

It’s warm.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Why Bergoo/Marchy is a rarepair I will never understand. Comment and kudos if you liked. Who knows I might rewrite this and make it better.


End file.
